Beautiful Disaster
by squeakykiki
Summary: Another songfic...I think I have an addiction. This is just Brennan musing over her relationship with Booth.


**Don't know what my deal is with songfics lately... This one was inspired by Kelly Clarkson's "Beautiful Disaster". That song is just gorgeous. Ok, just coz I can, I'm dedicating this one to LIMONE. They were some jaw-dropping comments you left about your idea of my songfics. Wow. This is the least I could do.**

**Bones does not belong to me. I would be a little drunk on power if it did. No drunkness, ergo, no ownership.**

Gravel crunched noisily beneath their feet. Brennan exhaled quietly and glanced at her partner. His face was a mask, the eyes lowered. He was absently jingling change in his pocket, the gentle tinkling sound contrasting with the ragged gasps of his breathing.

_He drowns in his dreams,_

Brennan pressed her lips together and focused on her shoes. He was in pain. He cared so much for every victim, for every family affected…it helped him do his job, but, really it was fragmenting an already damaged soul. In a perverse way, it was normal. Socially acceptable to care this deeply about members of your race whom you had never met. It was what set human beings aside from the baser instincts of the law of the jungle. His pain was Everyman's pain. And yet, it was uniquely and irreversibly his own, too.

_An exquisite extreme I know,_

She stole another quick look at him. His shoulders were slumped, his head lowered. His body admitting defeat. A stance she had seen him adopt far too often of late. She knew, given the horrors he'd seen, the monstrosities he'd borne witness to, it was hardly surprising that he was so…injured. But the depth of his despair still had the power to take her breath away, so raw and boundless did it so frequently seem.

_He's as damned as he seems,_

But, as was so often with Booth, he still had the ability to surprise her. He could look at her with eyes so haunted; whisper hoarsely, voice trembling with emotion, of lives that had been unjustly stolen and, still, through it all, he had faith. He believed in a higher power, a Deity who, at the end of all things, would punish the wicked and soothe and make whole the damaged, the downtrodden.

_And more Heaven than a heart could hold,_

In some ways she envied him. It must be comforting to feel that one's actions on this earth meant something. That, at the end of your life, you would be rewarded for every good deed. And, Booth had definitely performed more than one or two good deeds. While she felt gentle stabs of jealousy at his unshakable faith, part of her felt scorn too. Logically, it didn't make sense. The planets, stars and elements are what really control this universe. Only their movements, be they diversions, collisions or explosions, truly shape our destinies here on earth. But she knew he wouldn't accept that. Couldn't accept it. He needed something more. Unable to use science to help him, she had to settle for something less substantial, more intimate: herself.

_And if I try to save him,_

She bit her lip subconsciously, fear fluttering swiftly around her stomach. He was her partner, her friend. She wanted to help him. He needed support, comfort, an ear to listen. But was the price too high? She never let anyone get too close; never let them scale the impregnable fortress she had carefully constructed over years of loneliness and self-reliance. In helping him, in easing his suffering, she was inevitably offering a little bit of herself to him. And that chilled her to the core.

_My whole world could cave in,_

She slapped her thighs gently in frustration as she walked. The S.U.V. was in sight. Her gaze drifted from the last rays of the low evening sun glinting on the side windows back down to her dust-covered shoes. It wasn't fair that in trying to be a good friend, she had to guard her own self-concept so rigorously lest one day, when she looked around, it would be gone, vanished in her effort to heal another.

_It just ain't right,_

But she was always aware of the injustice of Booth's plight. No matter what angle she looked at it, it seemed grossly unfair that a man, an ordinary man, trying to live as best he can, being a good employee, a good father, a good friend, a good partner, ultimately, a good person, should be so distraught and harrowed by what society called upon him to do and witness.

_It just ain't right._

They reached the vehicle. Booth pulled open the driver's side door quietly, ducking his head as he climbed in. Brennan scuffed her feet slightly on the gravel before mirroring his movements on the passenger seat side. They buckled up wordlessly; the click of metal and the low hiss of Booth's breath the only noise. She glanced at him as he turned the keys in the ignition. His eyes were squeezed shut.

_Oh, and I don't know,_

He pulled out of the car park faster than he possibly should have done. She lowered her eyes to her intertwined fingers resting on her knees. She didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to do. Sometimes, silence was the best option to take. Pity was, she was never certain which occasions required such an unresponsive action. His tongue began to flick against the roof his mouth, the clicking noise giving her a welcome distraction.

_I don't know what he's after,_

Eyes roving to the gear stick, she could see a hazy interpretation of his profile in her peripheral vision. Even from this obscure angle, she could appreciate his features. The strong, masculine jaw. Firm mouth. Direct, focused eyes. Well-built, muscular figure. No doubt about it, he was very well structured.

_But he's so beautiful, _

She felt a smile tease the corners of her lips and she inwardly chastised herself. She should not be thinking of her partner in this manner. She caught his fingers moving on the wheel. The knuckles were white, strained. A vein jumped along the length of a metacarpal. Her eyes trailed up his arms. Even beneath the suit jacket she could see the muscles were taut. Finally, she rested her gaze on his face. His jaw was clenched, the force of this action evident at his temple.

_Such a beautiful disaster._

She wanted to be there for him. Wanted for him, in hindsight, to be able to look back and say that she was with him every step of the way. She knew he couldn't remain this dejected. The time would come when he could put the past behind him. Sure, he'd have regrets. He wouldn't be human if he didn't. But the weight of the sins he'd committed and the cruelty he saw everyday couldn't continue to cripple him as it had been doing recently. Someday, soon, he would emerge at the other side, changed and moulded by his experiences, but not consumed by them.

_And if I could hold on, _

He was always an intricate and fascinating figure. Proud but not arrogant. Loving but not smothering. Loyal but not overbearing. He had a cheeky, fun-loving side that, when it shone through, had the power to make her laugh and caused her steps to lighten, no matter how bad a day had been. Lately though, his jokes were becoming more and more intermittent. His chuckles at her attempts at humour were hollow. He hid behind a façade of good humour. Even if nobody else noticed, he knew he couldn't fool her.

_Through the tears and the laughter,_

She turned her head to gaze out the window, focusing on the sunset. It was always so swift, so abrupt on winter nights. Barely moments had passed before the shimmering orb sank below the horizon, obscured by buildings and trees. The sky was bereft, the sharp purple of the evening dusk pierced by frosty, ominous white. She shivered in spite of herself and turned her attention back to the vehicle, to this time and to this man.

_Would it be beautiful,_

Her eyes drifted to his hands. She'd always rather liked his hands, though she'd be the last person to admit it. They were men's hands: broad, strong, slightly scarred and yet tender when the occasion called for it. But, as with all things, she knew they could be used for violence too: to hurt, to maim. Never, she was sure, in an act of cruelty. Only to supplant the wrongdoers he ruthlessly pursued. As ever, that was the conundrum that was Seeley Booth. Undeniably good and pleasing on the surface, but a hidden…something lay within. A potential for ruination.

_Or just a beautiful disaster?_

As unromantic as she was, she could picture him as a knight in shining armour figure, despite his demons. An almost too-good-to-be-true hero of some happily ever after fairytale. He was righteous and brave, endlessly striving to protect those in need. She was sure the countless people he'd helped to save would agree with her. And she numbered herself among them. For, in spite of everything, he'd saved her too.

_He's magic and myth,_

Science never failed to explain the workings of the world around her. Her intellect and the logic bestowed upon her by years of study allowed her to decipher the most incomprehensible clues. It was rational and stable in its reasoning. Still, when Booth explained how he'd like to catch as many murderers as people he'd killed, it made sense. She'd teased him about it but, somewhere inside of her, she understood where he was coming from. It was as valid a viewpoint as any she'd ever come across.

_As strong as what I believe,_

And perhaps it was his relentless pursuit of this colossal goal that made him so flawed. His rationale that, with this killer and the next and the next that he brought to justice, it still wasn't enough. His determination to tip the scales in his favour, to appear worthy in the eyes of God, could one day spell his downfall.

_A tragedy with_

She could still feel the trembling of his fingers as he laid his hand on hers, still hear the strained hopeless in his voice as he confided in her on the cemetery bench and told her of the father he had killed, the son he had left grief-stricken. And she knew there were other, countless stories of all the wrong that he had done and all that had been done to him. Images and memories he might never recover from.

_More damage than a soul should see,_

Was this to be her lot in life? She knew she wasn't exactly whole and unblemished herself. She too was hurt. Perhaps that would be her story, her legacy to look back and reminisce upon in old age. She was one of two flawed people who clung to one another like a lifeline, forever trying to aid and heal the other. But, ultimately, with any success?

_And do I try and change him?_

She chanced a quick glance in his direction. He was deliberately keeping his eyes straight ahead, never deviating from the line of traffic ahead of them. Did he know what she was thinking and this was his attempt to avoid the conversation? Or did he not want her to see the pain in his eyes? He always encouraged her to talk about her feelings, to work her anxieties through with him. Too bad he didn't practice what he preached.

_So hard not to blame him,_

But he wasn't a bad person. And bad things shouldn't happen to good people. But they did. In her line of work, that point was irrefutably driven home on an almost daily basis. Surely, though, all the good that he managed to achieve with his words and actions would help to remedy the worries and ease the suffering.

_Hold on tight,_

She studied him, first the physicality of him, so close to her and then the concept of him and all that he believed in. As much as she hated broad unimaginative ways of viewing the world, she could see him as a force of light. He stood for everything that was good. And that, eventually, would be his acquittal. She glanced at his face once more and willed for him to see it too.

_Hold on tight._

Knowing him as she did, she was aware of the good and the bad. She admired many of his qualities and could be driven to distraction by the frustration she felt about some of his less redeemable character traits. And yet, she liked being with him. More than that. She loved spending time with him, being in his presence, bantering, arguing, talking, sharing deep silent moments during which something significant and profound would pass between them, only she wasn't sure what it was. She didn't understand it, wanted to, and yet was afraid of the answer she might find. In spite of her misgivings, she still craved him: the times they spent in one another's company, the looks that passed between them were irreplaceable, even if she couldn't quite figure out the reason why.

_I'm longing for love and the logical,_

Were they simply too different to remain fused, facing the world as a single entity? The concept of 'chalk and cheese' had only recently been explained to her. It certainly seemed to fit their unique dynamic. She was rational, serious, needing facts to interpret and understand events around her. He judged situations with his gut, often acting on impulse and easing tension with a smile or witty comment. Would their differences eventually drive them apart? Were they too dissimilar for their relationship to stand the test of time?

_But he's only happy hysterical,_

She couldn't deny that she had thought about him in a romantic sense. Well, maybe to Angela she could, but she couldn't hide the fact that she was attracted to him from herself. As scared as she was of feeling this way, as a complete contradiction to this, he, as a person, didn't make her feel scared. If anything, he made her feel safe. She felt differently around him, like nothing she'd ever felt before. Something deeper, more meaningful.

_I'm waiting for some kind of miracle,_

She knew she could survive on her own. She thrived, truly relished, in her own independence. It had taken her through her years of education, secured her employment and shaped her into the person she was today. Yes, she wasn't perfect, but who was? She was proud of her achievements, as she had every right to be. So why did she feel so guilty when she craved companionship? She wasn't sure what kind of 'companionship' she was looking for…a lifetime just seemed like a very lengthy span to be without anyone.

_Waited so long_

Her eyes took in her own hands, fingers intertwined. She moved her gaze to inspect his hands. Unbeknownst to her, a smile softened her features as she finally rested her eyes on his face: his cheek, his eyes, his mouth.

_So long_

How many times had a hug, a smile, a glance from him quelled all her fears? One soothing word from his lips and she felt whole. And, in his arms, against his beating heart, she felt loved.

_He's soft to the touch,_

Through him she was learning, as much about her own suppressed feelings as about his personal experiences, that some injuries can't be examined; the extent of some damage cannot be determined. Some wounds run too deep for that.

_But frayed at the ends he breaks,_

Theirs, she was realising but was having trouble admitting, was a symbiotic relationship. Both needed and nurtured the other. Still, as much as he gave her, she was always left wanting more.

_He's never enough,_

It wasn't meant to be like this. They were meant to be partners, at most, friends. She strove everyday to appear professional, proficient in everything she did. Feelings of uncertainty about the depth of affection she had for her partner was definitely not something she wanted to encourage. And maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he came with too much baggage. Maybe he was too damaged for her to deal with. And, maybe, he was too right for her for comfort.

_And still he's more than I can take._

Booth pulled into the parking lot of the Jeffersonian. With one hand he rubbed his tired eyes, with the other he killed the engine. He sat immobile for a number of seconds before undoing his belt and exiting the vehicle with a sigh. Brennan fumbled to follow his actions.

They fell into step as they moved away from the S.U.V. He breathed deep, enjoying the crisp feel of the cool night air at his face and filling his lungs. He peeked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"So, you were awfully quiet."

A sad smile flitted across her face. She took a moment before responding.

"So were you."

He turned to face her, effectively stopping her in his abruptness. He opened his mouth to defend himself, to make an excuse. He didn't have to. One look in her eyes and he knew he didn't have to. Wordlessly, he held his arms out with a smile.

On the cusp of hesitating, she registered the desperation, the need etched into his features. With a sigh, she moved into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his middle as she felt his hands settle at the small of her back. They stood, unmoving, for several minutes. Presently, he dipped his head slightly and kissed her hair, just above her forehead. She felt a barely discernable shiver race down her spine. Something inside of her was screaming at her to run away, to get out before they got too close. Another part was telling her to hold him tighter. The second part won.

A noise of happiness escaped her as she pulled him closer. He traced loose shapes on her back, his arms anchoring her snugly to him. She felt the tension in her shoulders ebb away. Against his chest, she smiled. He needed her. And she needed him. In the end, that was all that mattered.

_He's beautiful…_


End file.
